


Left Behind

by raiining



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Episode: s01e01 Pilot, Insecure Clint, Insecure Phil, M/M, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-27 23:29:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/984932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raiining/pseuds/raiining
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been one thing when he'd believed Phil was dead - that had been awful, and Clint had still been struggling to deal with it - but to know that he was alive?  That he hadn't called, or contacted, or cared about Clint enough to tell him?</p>
<p>That was worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Left Behind

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Make A Fist](https://archiveofourown.org/works/979889) by [nerdwegian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdwegian/pseuds/nerdwegian). 



> Huge thanks to the fabulous Ralkana, who always points out things that don't make sense and areas that require more clarification. THANK YOU!!! All remaining mistakes are mine ;)
> 
> Edit: Shoot! I forgot to link to nerdwegian's fabulous fic, which prompted me to write this one. Inspiration now provided below!!

The video goes viral. S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn’t seem to be putting any effort into covering it up – just the opposite, in fact. Clint’s sure it’s been edited, but the impassioned voice of the man in the suit, coupled with the clear desperation on the other guy’s face, makes the video one of the best recruitment tools they’ve got. They want to tell the world that S.H.I.E.L.D. isn't the enemy, but they can’t exactly rent advertising space on the subway to do it. The viral video makes a good compromise.

It’s grainy cell-phone camera quality, but the sound is clear enough. Clint knows that voice, has heard it on countless missions and been lured by it to sleep. It’s Phil.

Tony calls him several hours after the video hits the web. He’s pissed. His rant lasts at least two hours but trails off at some point, anger transforming into hurt. Eventually, Tony hangs up. Clint puts down the phone and sits back on the couch. He’s not sure what he feels. The roiling combination in his gut is giving him indigestion, though, so he orders a pizza. He keeps his phone in his pocket, but no one else calls.

He’s not sure who he’s expecting to contact him. Phil’s obviously been out of medical and in the field for a while, now. He’s not limping and he’s the agent in charge of an active mission. He hasn’t called Clint, though, and Clint doesn’t know what that means.

Okay, he _knows_ what that means, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. It seems like a shitty way to break up with someone.

S.H.I.E.L.D orders him in two days later. Clint debates not going, just saying fuck it and staying on his couch, where he’s spent the better part of the past three days, but he’s still an active agent and he _is_ curious. He goes.

Hill’s waiting for him. Clint stands at parade rest while she sighs. “Agent Barton. As I’m sure you’re aware by now, Agent Coulson is alive.”

Clint’s hands tighten into fists. He doesn’t say anything. Hill stares at him. Clint reminds himself that she didn’t know about them, that no one did. Phil had said he wanted to tell people, but he didn’t push it. Clint had thought _he'd_ been the one holding them back, but now he's not so sure.

“Is that all?” he asks finally. 

Hill gives him a jerky nod. “That’s all. The Director can't keep it quiet any more. I just thought you should know.”

“Gee, _thanks_ ,” Clint spits out. He’s angry; he knows that he’s angry. He’s a lot of other things, though, too. “Did he leave a message for me?”

Hill looks at him curiously. “No.”

“Fine.” Clint says. If that’s how Phil wants to play it – fine. He really was just a convenient fuck. 

Clint leaves her office. He stalks out of Headquarters and back to his apartment, shaking the entire way. 

 

*

 

The rest of the Avengers meet Coulson except for Natasha. Tony stalks him – apparently on Pepper’s behalf – until he gives in and confesses he’s alive. Cap sees him in Headquarters one day and Bruce says he comes by the lab sometimes, looking for Simmons or Fitz. Thor’s still in Asgard. Natasha’s the only other one left out because she’s hip-deep in some kind of trouble with Steve. She assures Clint she can handle it, even spares a second to ask how he’s doing, but Clint lies and tells her he’s fine. He’s not about to dump his personal problems in her lap, not when she obviously needs her wits about her. It’s enough to hold her off for now. Clint goes on being an Avenger and a part-time agent with S.H.I.E.L.D. He hears word around the water-cooler about Coulson’s new dream team – no matter how much he tries to avoid it, S.H.I.E.L.D. is talking about little else. Coulson’s always been The Guy, after all – the one who could do anything, fix any problem. He’s got a whole handpicked team under him now, and one of his agents is Melinda May, which is just – great. 

Just great.

Clint spends a lot of time on the archery range, and then even more at the gym. He can’t risk fucking up his aim, but he can run until his legs give out and no one gives a shit. There’s no one to care, anymore. 

Clint’s been left behind.

When the order comes to assist Coulson’s team, Clint hesitates. He actually, truly, considers resigning his commission and running away. He thinks about it for a solid minute before memories of what exactly that life had entailed come back to him and he remembers how unhappy he had been. He confirms the temporary appointment and goes to pack up his gear.

He’s Hawkeye. He’s an Avenger. He can handle it.

He can’t handle it.

“Agent Barton,” Phil says, and it’s warm but not too warm, polite but kind, and every single kind of wrong. It's like Phil from five years ago, before they starting working closely together. “Thank you for joining us.”

He looks at Clint like he is nothing, like _they_ were nothing, and Clint wants to throw up in his mouth. 

“You’re welcome, sir.”

He finishes the op and they capture the bad guy – dangerous but not enough to bring in the rest of the Avengers, just the sort of threat Coulson’s team was designed to handle – and Phil gives him another kind smile before Clint packs up and leaves. He shakes all the way back to Headquarters, the truth finally settling somewhere inside his gut.

That’s it. 

They’re over.

He sticks to his apartment and doesn’t come out for three days. It’s Natasha who finally drags his ass off the couch and into the shower. He only wakes up when she turns on the cold water, and Clint realises she must be back from her mission. He can tell it was at least partially successful by the soot she still has in her hair. 

She’s scowling, though, and that might be because of the op or because she’s pissed at him. Clint’s not sure. He’s drunk enough over the past couple of days to make everything just that sort of unknowable hazy.

“What happened?” Natasha demands, when she’s gotten Clint stripped and switched over to the hot water.

He’s drunk enough to tell her, and foggy enough not to wonder when her eyes narrow and she sits on the floor to think. Clint ducks under the shower head and tries to drag himself back to the present. He’s spent the past three days reliving the past, all the good times they had together, trying to tie it into a neat bow and then throw it away.

His breath catches in his throat, so he obviously hasn’t been successful. Dammit.

Once he’s clean, Natasha feeds him Vietnamese food and lets him sleep for twelve hours, but after that she packs him into clothes and marches him down to S.H.I.E.L.D. Clint stumbles along behind her, not quite sure why they’re going, but sober enough by now not to argue with Natasha when she’s in one of her moods.

When they arrive, Nat leads them straight to Hill’s office. “I want to see Agent Coulson.”

Hill blinks at her, but doesn’t protest. She makes a call and twenty minutes later Coulson is there, dressed in his usual suit, looking kind and polite and a little confused. 

“Agent Romanov,” he says. 

Natasha stares at him. She narrows her eyes, and Clint’s reminded that she’s always been the paranoid one. “What did you say to me on the corner of Wayside and Roe the day I first tried strawberry ice cream?”

Coulson stares at her, his brow furrowing slightly. “I’m sorry?”

“I said,” Natasha repeats, her voice going hard, “what did you say to me on the corner of Wayside and Roe the day I first tried strawberry ice cream?”

Coulson shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”

Natasha clasps his arm. Clint realizes that he's shaking. 

“It’s not him.”

 

*

 

“It’s him.”

Fury is standing behind his desk, his hands resting on the hardwood surface. He looks tired. 

“He was dead, do you understand that? He was clinically, by all our medical science, dead. We used experimental treatments to bring him back, and there were… consequences.”

Clint can’t seem to unclench his chest. He can’t get a full breath of air. “What do you mean, consequences?”

“Brain damage.”

Clint’s heart leaps into his throat, and Fury shakes his head. “Not much,” he says, holding up one hand, “but enough. It’s why he hasn’t been cleared to work with the Avengers yet, at least not on a large scale mission. I’m trying to ease him back into the field, to see if anything else comes back. He remembers his childhood, the Rangers, our friendship, and which key is the key to his apartment, but the details of the past several years are… scattered, at best. We had to do some major repair work to his neural centres, and we filled in the holes from mission reports where we could. He kept tripping himself in therapy, though, remembering one detail but not the rest. It triggered some sort of an overload in his repaired tissue and we had to sedate him several times to prevent further damage. It’s why we decided to blank out his memory of the past several months and implant a false overlay instead. He understands there are some holes in his memory, but accepts it as part of the treatment. He thinks he spent the majority of time since the Battle of New York in Tahiti.”

Clint swallows. “Tahiti.”

Fury sighs. He sounds defeated. “It’s a magical place.”

Natasha is still staring at the Director. “But it _is_ Coulson?”

Fury nods. “It is.”

Clint’s chest finally starts to unclench. He takes a breath. “What can we do? I mean – is there anything we can do?”

“Expose him to familiar situations,” Fury says, “but not _too_ familiar so that he trips over himself. That what I’ve been trying to do with this assignment – he remembers Melinda, the mobile command centre, and he’s adapting well to the new members of his team. I’m trying to jog things carefully. Agent May has been fully briefed on the situation, and Agent Hill is keeping a personal eye on the details.”

“Are you sure he’s ready to go back in the field?” Natasha asks. “If he’s lost some of his memories…?”

“He wanted to go back,” Fury tells her firmly, “and he’s done a great job so far. I am _not_ losing my best agent over this; I’m not losing anyone else to Loki’s schemes. It’s Phil,” he says, and for a moment, the Director looks almost human. “He’s my best friend. He’ll be fine.”

 

*

 

Familiar situations, Fury had said. Clint looks around his apartment – it’s new, he got it after he was released from medical, so it shouldn’t trigger a memory cascade. His old apartment had been destroyed in the invasion, and while he’d gone back for what remained of his knick knacks, he hadn’t put much effort into making this place look the same. 

It had been too painful, back then, to try to recreate what he’d had. Clint’s old apartment had been where Phil had kissed him for the first time, where they had sat on the couch and devoured pizza together. Phil liked to watch ridiculous B-grade horror movies to unwind at three a.m., and Clint had passed out next to him more times than he can count.

This place is new, though. Clint debates hiding the knitted afghan Phil had bought him in Peru, but decides to keep it out. He’s got his old circus bow on the wall and the Hello Kitty poster Natasha got him as a Christmas gag gift over the couch. Nothing else looks the same, but it might be enough to nudge gently at Phil’s memories without sending him into the tail-spin panic Fury had talked about, the one that did more harm than good.

“Hi,” Phil says, when he rings the doorbell and Clint answers. He’s smiling, but it’s not just polite and kind anymore – it’s slightly nervous. 

Clint stares at him, taking in the reality of Phil being here, of being _alive_. He hadn’t really let himself believe, before, always walling the wonder away behind the hurt. He blinks back the tears that threaten, and has to clear his throat before finally stepping away from the door. 

“Hey,” he says, and he knows his voice is rough.

Phil glances at him, quick and concerned and so goddamn familiar, but steps into the apartment. “I admit I was a little surprised to get your message.”

Clint forces himself to shrug and close the door. “I just thought that, since things had calmed down some, we could hang out a little. I haven’t seen you much since you’ve been back.”

“I’m sorry,” Phil says. He walks into the apartment and looks around. He’s taking in the entrances and exits as well as the décor, Clint knows. “I wasn’t sure what to say. The last time we met you seemed angry.”

“I was,” Clint admits, walking past Phil and into the kitchen. He’s got snacks prepared in a bowl, the usual chips and dip. “I understand a little better now, though. I’m sorry for being pissed at you.”

Phil shrugs and Clint knows his apology is accepted. He follows Clint into the kitchen. “I’ve always wondered what your apartment looked like. Is this place new?”

“I got it after the Battle,” Clint says, swallowing past the memories of Phil in his old space, laughing while he made snacks. He ask Phil if there's anything he remembers, but he's wary of triggering a reaction. “Do you want to watch some TV? I downloaded Sharkopolous.”

Phil’s eyes light up. “Sounds perfect.” 

They sit on the couch and Clint cues up the screen. It’s so familiar, it steals the breath from his chest. Phil must sense something similar, because after five minutes of the – admittedly, pretty terrible – movie, he frowns and looks over at Clint.

“How did you know I have awful taste in TV?”

Clint’s heart stutters at the look of vague confusion on Phil’s face, but he forces himself to smile. “I’m a spy, remember? That’s why they pay me the big bucks.”

Phil smiles and shakes his head, and they go back to watching the movie. 

 

*

 

Phil still seems to enjoy his company, so Clint takes what we can get. Phil obviously remembers him just fine, but it's like the details from the past five years have been wiped away. He knows they've worked together on op's, but he forgets learning to cook lasagna in Clint's apartment, and the time they found a wet kitten in the rain and Clint wanted to keep it. He sets up a few more dates and they hang out in Clint’s apartment or go to the movies. Every time, though, there’s something – some small detail – that causes Phil to frown. He’s trying to remember the things that he’s missing, but he never quite gets there. It’s heartbreaking to see.

In the meantime, though, dating is nice. It’s not something they’ve ever done, before. They were friends at first, and then they started fucking like rabbits on every vaguely horizontal surface they could find. There wasn’t much in between. This time, Clint wants to ease into things. He’s curious to see if Phil will let him, if he wants something more than what they had before. Clint knows that _he_ does, but he can’t be sure about Phil.

Phil seems to figure out that Clint’s wooing him. He gets this adorable little smile on his face when Clint asks him out to dinner, and he flashes Clint quick little looks a hundred times during their date, as if checking to see that he’s still there. 

Phil had told Clint once that he’d liked him for years, but never thought someone like Clint could want more from a man like him. Clint hadn’t believed him at the time – Phil was absolutely perfect, and he had to know it – but now he’s beginning realize that he doesn't.

Maybe all the rushed sex and the not telling other people was more than Phil being ashamed of him. Clint’s starting to wonder.

They have a nice dinner full of easy conversation, and Clint finds himself smiling more than he has in months. Phil drives him home after like a gentleman, Lola smooth and perfect on the road, and they sit for a moment idling at the curb in front of Clint’s apartment.

Clint feels like a teenager in a 90’s movie. “Thank you for dinner.”

Phil had insisted on paying, even though Clint had protested that the restaurant was his idea. “You can get the next one,” Phil had said, and Clint had been grinning too hard to reply.

“Thank you for the invitation,” Phil says now. He’s smiling that small, perfect smile that is no longer just kind and polite, but not quite what Clint remembers, either. He glances at Clint’s apartment, then back to Clint’s face. He blushes slightly.

Clint suddenly wants to kiss him so badly, he has to clench his hands to keep them to himself. “I’m trying to take this slow.”

He didn’t mean to say that out loud, and he _definitely_ didn’t mean for it to come out so rough, but Phil only gets a familiar gleam in his eye.

“Slow is good,” he says, but he’s not really agreeing. He’s leaning in. “I can do slow.”

Clint can’t stop himself from swaying towards him. “I want to show you I can be a gentleman.”

Phil’s eyes flicker down to his lips. “Never doubted it.”

“I don’t want this to be just like the last time,” Clint whispers. His eyes are on Phil’s mouth, and he’s hardly aware of what he’s saying.

He catches it when Phil draws back, though, confusion flickering in his eyes. “Last time?”

Clint curses under his breath. He leans back and drags a hand over his eyes. “I mean – ”

“No,” Phil says, and shakes his head. He reaches for Clint, his hands steady. “I don’t care. I want this. Kiss me.”

Clint could never resist a command like that.

He kisses Phil, and it’s like everything he remembers and nothing he recalls all at the same time. It isn’t a fast, hurried kiss, but it isn’t slow either – there’s enough want and pent-up need to make Clint dangerously close to coming in his pants like a teenager. 

Phil seems like he’s right there with him – he’s clutching at Clint’s shoulders and dragging him closer, his tongue sweeping across Clint’s mouth while he sucks on his bottom lip. After a few moments, though, he backs off. 

Clint chases him, but Phil’s not responding. Clint’s heart flutters and he wonders if he’s already managed to fuck this up, but when he leans back to look, Phil’s eyes are glassy and his face is blank. 

“Phil?”

Phil blinks, but he’s not focusing, and Clint has a half-second to panic before his eyes close and he starts to shudder. Clint watches in horror as Phil curls in on himself and begins to shake. He scrambles for his phone and activates the emergency line.

“Medical emergency! Medical emergency! Agent Phil Coulson is going into some sort of seizure!”

His phone sends the GPS coordinates to S.H.I.E.L.D. and an ambulance arrives within minutes. In the meantime, Clint gets Phil out of the car so he doesn’t hurt himself on the steering wheel and cradles his head while he shakes. When the medics arrive, they shift him onto a stretcher and quickly load him into the ambulance, and Clint doesn’t hesitate before jumping in alongside them. 

“What happened?” Fury asks when the medics have whisked Phil away through the double-steel doors and Clint is left standing by himself, staring helplessly.

“Nothing,” he says, dully. Their romantic evening already seems years away. “We had dinner, he drove me home.” He blinks. “He kissed me.”

Fury looks at him. “Was that familiar?”

Clint bites his lip. “Yeah.”

“Aw, _shit_.”

The Director’s face falls. Clint’s hand clench into fists. “What?”

“Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. How long were you two together?”

“Six months,” Clint says, and then, because Fury looks honestly upset, “He really didn’t tell you?”

“No,” Fury growls, “the motherfucker didn’t.”

Clint swallows and looks away. “He didn’t think it was a big deal.”

Fury sighs. “It was a big deal, Barton. It was a huge deal, to him. He’s been in love with you for years, since the first time you met, really. The only time I’ve ever seen Phil Coulson come close to panicking was after the Midas op, when he had to send you onto that rooftop and straight into danger. I thought I’d have to get the man a paper bag.”

Clint doesn’t know what to say. “Phil?”

Fury nods, his gaze far away. “I asked if I had to reassign you, but he said no – he didn’t want to entrust your safety to anyone else. He said he could handle it.” The Director snorts. “I told him to get his head out of his ass and ask you out on a date already, but he refused. He said he was your superior and you’d never go for it, besides.”

“I would have,” Clint tells him. “I did. I finally got fed up with the way he used to look at me, like I was important and under his boot at the same time. I kissed him. Surprised the hell out of me when he kissed back.”

Fury snorts, then sighs. “Six months,” he says, and then shakes his head. “Well, that could be it, then.”

Clint frowns. “Could be what?”

“The missing piece. The docs did what they could to help his memories, repaired what was possible and replaced what wasn’t. There was always something missing, though, something we couldn’t figure out. I’m willing to bet it was you.”

Clint swallows. “If that’s true – what does it mean?”

Fury shrugs. Just then, the door opens and a young doctor pops her head out into the corridor. “Agent Barton?” 

Clint jumps forward so fast he nearly sprains something. “Yes?”

“Agent Coulson is asking for you.”

He swallows and doesn’t know what to say. Hope – the possibility of hope – is choking him. He follows the doctor inside the medical bay and a few steps down the hall to where Phil is fighting with a male nurse, trying to get out of bed.

“Get out of my way, I feel fine, I – ” he stops the moment he sees Clint, eyes lighting up like he’s never seen him before.

Clint’s heart flip-flops in his chest, but then Phil smiles. His grin is so wide, so full of relief, that Clint knows he hasn’t forgotten him again.

“ _Clint_.”

His name is a breath, a benediction, and Clint stifles a sob as he stumbles towards Phil’s bed. Phil’s arms come up, reaching for him, and Clint can’t help but fall into them, dropping to his knees and shoving his head into Phil’s chest.

“Clint. _Clint_. I can’t believe I forgot you. How could I ever have forgotten you?”

Clint shakes his head to stop them, but the tears are coming. “You didn't, you _didn't_. Not really.”

“I knew I was missing something. I _knew_ it was important. I struggled and struggled and it only made things worse.” Phil’s voice is angry, regretful, and so full of love that Clint doesn’t know how much he can take.

“It’s okay,” he says, wiping his eyes with the back of his hands before raising his head and meeting Phil’s gaze. “You remember now?”

Phil stares at him, like he’s drinking in the sight of him, but he’s smiling. “Yes. I remember the Avengers, and Loki, and _Natasha_ – god, no wonder she didn’t think it was me – and you. I remember therapy, too, and yet, oddly, I still remember Tahiti.” His lips quirk. “I think we’ll have to go there for real, sometime. It seems like quite the place.”

Clint’s smile falters. “You’d really want to go somewhere? With me?”

Phil’s gaze turns serious, and his fingers find Clint’s on the bed. “Always with you. God, Clint. I can’t – I can’t even describe what it was like, knowing that something was missing, knowing that I was falling in love with you and yet feeling like I had done it before. It was frustrating, and yet – I told myself not to fight it, because what we had, what we were building, was so wonderful that I didn’t want to give it up for anything.”

“But you don’t just want to go back to the way things were before?”

Phil looks at him seriously. “I want to tear your clothes off with my teeth, but I don’t want – I don’t _just_ want – that. I never did.”

Clint sighs in relief. “Good. Me, neither.” He blushes. “The clothes-tearing thing sounds pretty good, though.”

“Convince the doctors to let me go and I’ll demonstrate that with detail.”

Clint laughs. “Isn’t that usually my line? And hell no, by the way – you scared the crap out of me. We’re not leaving until everyone knows exactly what happened and can assure me it isn’t going to happen again.”

Fury comes in while the EEG techs are bustling. His eye is suspiciously watery, so Clint leaves to have a word with the doctor while they talk. He gets a list of what Phil’s not allowed to do and what to watch for, and wanders back in time to hear Fury say, “Your team’s waiting for you outside.”

Phil cocks his head at the Director, but his fingers find Clint’s again without even looking. “Which one?”

“Both,” Fury says with a smile. “If you prove you’ve got your memory back, you’ll be cleared to work with the Avengers again. Fair warning that Fitz and Simmons don’t want to let you go, though. I don’t think anyone has ever thrown them into so many new situations before. I think they’ve got a taste for it.”

Phil rolls his eyes. “I learned how to wrangle scientists from working with Stark.” For a second, he looks panicked. “Please tell me someone kept Fitz-Simmons and Stark and Banner on opposite sides of the room?”

Fury shrugs and steps back. “They seemed pretty cozy when I left.”

Phil curses and Clint laughs. He tugs on Phil’s hand. “I think you’re in for your worlds colliding, sir.”

“I’m not sure S.H.I.E.L.D. will survive,” Phil mutters. He looks back to their joined hands and frowns. “Stark’s going to be pissed at me.”

“For what?”

“For ignoring him. He’s been sending me text messages, trying to get my opinion on several things, but I didn’t understand what was happening – I didn’t remember enough about our past interactions to know how to respond. I do now, though.”

Clint squeezes his hand. “He’ll understand. Everyone will.”

Phil looks up. His expression is complicated. “Will you?”

“Always,” Clint promises him. “And hey, if something happens and you forget about me, I know exactly how to make you fall in love with me again,” he jokes. “After all, I’ve done it twice now.”

“That you have,” Phil says, and there’s nothing joking in his tone as he draws Clint down for a kiss. “That you have.”


End file.
